


Six Words

by ThePreciousHeart



Category: Barry (TV 2018)
Genre: Acting, Canon Compliant, During Canon, Flashbacks, Gen, Guilt, Mental Breakdown, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22137253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePreciousHeart/pseuds/ThePreciousHeart
Summary: Six words. It’s only six words. Six words shouldn’t give him any trouble.“My lord, the queen is dead.”Barry’s backstage breakdown from S1E7, set to prose.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28





	Six Words

_Swish._ The door opens and he’s inside, immediately trapped in the spotlight of her not-so-loving gaze.

“You’re here!”

What- why is the room so empty-

“Where is everybody?”

Relief turns to disappointment in seconds. “And you’re not in costume. _Fuck it!”_

Wait. No one said anything about _costumes._

“We were supposed to wear a costume?”

“We’re up.” _Clink, clink._ Metal hangers against metal racks. The lights are so _bright_ in here, there aren’t many of them but his eyes are burning all the- “Here, put this on, it’s something.” _Thump._ He catches the fabric, mechanical and stiff and now she’s gone, moving across the floor before he has time to blink.

“Come on. It’s places, _now.”_ She motions and he follows her to the side of the stage, to the wings, that’s what they call it right?, that’s a theater word, but why does it matter-

Her hands, grabbing him, _catching_ him as he pulls on the whatever-it-is, and her touch burns just like the lights did. “Barry- Barry, look at me. _Look at me.”_ He’s looking, but he wishes he wasn’t because he doesn’t _see_ her, she’s there but _he’s_ not, he’s far, far away and _shit,_ he’s tired. He was asleep not long ago but he’s _still_ tired. It’s that feeling again, that dark, smothering wave from a month ago that pinned him to his bed and forced his head below its surface to the point where he couldn’t breathe safely and _what?_ Her mouth, moving, she’s waiting, she must have said something, oh _shit-_

“I’m sorry, what?”

_“FUCK!_ Just- _whatever._ ” She moves again, all harsh, angry strides, and it’s not fair because he genuinely doesn’t know what she said. “What?” But she doesn’t hear him, and the stage lights shut off to the sound of scattered applause, and each one of Nick’s footsteps rolls through his ears like a thunder clap.

“Well Puck just took a big dump out there, that guy _sucks.”_ Nick disappears with an eye-roll and by the time he looks back, she’s gone too, positioned onstage like a living sculpture. _Okay,_ okay. Right. It’s acting time now. He’s here to act, he’s an _actor,_ that’s what he does, that’s what he _wants_ to do-

What’s his line again?

Her voice carries from the stage, couched in posturing formality, but for the second time, it falls on deaf ears. He can’t listen to her, he needs to work on his line. Just that, his line. Don’t think of anything else. Not the parked car, not that- that _look_ in his eyes, that slowly-dawning fear, the realization that he was sitting next to a _murderer…_

Is that what he is?

_“My lord, my lord, the queen is dead.”_ Each breath is a gasp, each word a hiss. _“My l- my lord, the queen is dead, my lord-”_

Six words. It’s only _six words_. Six words shouldn’t give him any trouble.

_“My l-”_

A knife, slashing through his brain, illuminating his surroundings in pure Technicolor.

_Chris and Sharon and Theo on the pier, standing and smiling and happy together, before he took it all away for what exactly_

_“Fuck!”_ No, he can’t- it’s distracting him, just say the- _what?_ There’s a phone ringing, but there’s no phone backstage, he doesn’t think so anyway, where’s it coming from?

_“My lord, the queen is dead, my lord, the queen is dead-”_

_Sharon lovingly reaching for the phone, her honeyed voice carrying over the receiver, seconds before disaster_

_“Hello?”_ He spins around but she’s not there, just like the phone’s not there, but she’s _out_ there somewhere and she’s about to receive the shock of her _“Yes?” NO!!_ No no _NO,_ don’t _think_ about that, don’t let it-

_Sharon’s kind face falling with disbelief “What?”_

_UGH._ There’s a tightness in his chest and arms and a panicky feeling in his throat, and he just- needs it to _stop_ , needs to stop _seeing_ them, needs to forget what happened but how _can_ he

_Thwack thwack thwack THWACK_ stop it stop it stop it _THWACK_ shut up, just _shut up-_

_Sharon sobbing on the phone, falling to the floor, grief etched across her countenance_

He can’t breathe, what’s this fucking thing she put him in? He throws it off _thump_ but it doesn’t help, he still can’t breathe, he can’t see or hear or think straight

_Theo, alarmed, inspecting the scene “Mom?”_

_“FUCK!” THWACK._ No no _no._ Just get out there, just get onstage and say the fucking line, six words, that’s it, he can scream and cry and vent later, just get through this, get _through this-_

He’s already screaming inside. Not that it does any good. Not that screaming aloud would help either, he’s done it before but it _hurts,_ and

_Sharon and Theo dressed in black, weeping as the soldiers raise the star-spangled banner over Chris’ casket_ fuck the phone is ringing again, why is the phone ringing

_“Thank you” Sharon mouths to the soldier, mourners spread out in rows behind her_

“stop stop stop” just make it _stop_

_“Mom?” THWACK “STOP STOP STOP!”_

_Sharon cradling Theo on the floor, hysterical “FUCK!”_ would someone just answer the goddamn _phone_

_“Yes?... When?...”_

_“Hello?”_

_SLAM._ The table rattles and there’s silence, blessed silence, but all of a sudden it’s _not_ blessed because it’s a cue, he’s an actor and he’s here to say his line.

Six words. Just six words. Six words… and then it’s over.

He turns, only then realizing that he’s sobbing too, only then knowing that there’s nothing he can do, and _everything_ that he could have done.

Six words. Reach your mark, look at her, and say them.

“My lord…” He can’t breathe. He says it anyway, and it’s not her eyes he sees, but Sharon’s, full of tears and pain and rage. He says his line as the guilt rips him up from the inside, and every word is a beg for forgiveness which he doesn’t deserve.

_“The queen is dead.”_ The queen is dead. Dead. Chris is dead. The phone rings.

_Sharon… your husband-_

He’s silent, but he’s still screaming. He doesn’t know when it will stop.


End file.
